Gemotions

A chill traced down Michael’s spine, despite the warmth of the late afternoon sun. He’d stumbled upon the letter tucked between the pages of his grandfather’s old leather-bound journal. The tremor in his hands made the paper crinkle as he turned it over. A letter in a familiar, sprawling script, addressed to his absent father.

He felt his jaw clench. The quiet of the library pressed in on him. He considered putting it back, pretending he hadn't seen it, but his fingers, seemingly of their own volition, unfurled the fragile paper.

He glanced around the room, as if expecting someone to materialize and scold him. He hadn't known his father was a poet. Or that he'd ever felt so deeply.